Time
by anenemies
Summary: Post-Doomsday fix-it.   In which the Doctor, Rose and Donna save the Earth, Pete's world, and a handful of others.  Let's see how.
1. Chapter 1

Time _really_ isn't linear. Well, perhaps from a 78th century Zoogodean perspective of linear patterns, but planar creatures always have an odd sort of perception. Really it _was_ rather like a ball, timey-whimey or otherwise. The point is, at any given moment, any millisecond in space and time, and any other dimension you Zoogodean's would like to throw in there, life was infinite. There were a million and one, a trillion and two even, possibilities hanging glittering and tremulous in any given moment. The Doctor could look at a split second in the universe and see, really and truly _see_, the complex spider-webbing of time and possibility overlaid on that brief moment. He could, but really, he'd rather not. Gave a bloke a bit of a headache.

Still, it was there, lurking in the corner of his eye, or rather the corner of his mind. Where he left all sorts of things (_Gallifrey and Susan and Romana and the Master and orange skies over red fields)_ to accumulate dust. And normally there it stayed, quietly tinting his universe in familiar shades. So it was rather jarring when this screen was abruptly lifted from his vision.

While a better metaphor might be that it was quite similar to when a Yykmyykian broke from its placental exoskeleton to first view its gaseous world with it's eighty-three eyes. An acceptable Earth substitute circa the 21st century was that previous to that moment he had been viewing the universe in full colour, high definition, Dolby digital surround sound, to have suddenly reverted to a stuttering, sepia toned, grainy image.

It was understandable, then, that the considerably jarred Doctor stumbled briefly on the cobbled streets of Urvia and had to lean heavily on the stand selling lo, which was rather like a purple banana but most definitely less pleasant when ingested. It was also understandable that Donna about had a heart attack when she turned round from inspecting the aforementioned lo speculatively to see the Doctor panting heavily and alarmingly pale.

"Doctor, Doctor? Are you alright?" Abandoning the purple banana where she found it she was crouching next to the Doctor as he leaned on the stand. His eyes were glassy and his grip on the wooden stalk holding up the cabana was white knuckled. "Doctor?" More than a bit shaken Donna reached out her hand, lightly brushing the Doctor's shoulder before firmly shaking him "Doctor!" His gaze abruptly shifted from the miscellaneous foreground to searing straight into her eyes. More or less used to his occasional bout of Oncoming Storm, Donna sighed in mild relief and beamed up at the stalls owner who looked about as perturbed as a Groat could, that is any being possessing of twelve noses in varying strategic positions but no eyes could.

"Come on then, let's get you back to the TARDIS to save the universe you great git." Pulling his lean form up and brushing off his familiar brown pinstripe suit. "Had me worried there, thought you'd seen a ghost the way you were acting." The Doctor allowed himself to be led through the market back to the TARDIS, and was led equally complacently into his ship and on to the pilot's chair in the console room. By this point Donna had moved from mildly nervous to full blown terrified. Never had she known the stupid skinny Martian to do _anything_ complacently. "Doctor? What is it?" Shaking his head slowly, as though waking from a daze, the Doctor looked at Donna grimly

"It's gone." Goes to show, even in the middle of what must be a full blown crisis, the daft alien would be vague as all get out just to look cool.

"What is Doctor?" Donna was really only so patient and if he didn't explain soon he was gonna get a slap, because despite herself, she was quite worried.

"The Veil, between the worlds. Between the _universes_." He shuddered eloquently as he uttered it, as though someone had just walked over his grave. "It's gone."

Rose Tyler was absolutely and completely bored. Alright, so she didn't have A-Levels. This daft universe didn't even have A-Levels, there was just some lark about a Proficiency Test and a mind boggling array of certificates and diplomas. Really, you'd think that the organization which dealt almost exclusively with the extraterrestrial or fantastical and was run by her not-dad would just take her invaluable experience at face value and just give her a position somewhere or other. But no, she had to have the right qualifiers, _You understand Rose? It would just seem like favouritism otherwise_. Right, because two linear years and who knows how much TARDIS time spent seeing the universe from beginning to ending just wasn't enough experience for a desk job.

Twelve seconds after the Doctor faded away from her on Bad Wolf Bay and about fifty five seconds after she accepted she was stuck and he wasn't coming back to finish his sentence Rose decided that she was going to move on. That phase lasted a surprisingly long amount of time. The three months spent mourning him before her jaunt to Norway was enough. Rose Tyler didn't need a man, or a Time Lord for that matter, to define her. She was going to see the world. So Pete passed out a travel allowance, she kissed her mum goodbye and told Mickey to stay in touch. Then off she went.

Spent a year and a half travelling the world, at least, _this_ world – saw the United States of Mexico and up through America and the Canadian Union. Back around to New Germany, Russia and Chzeckoslovania. Spent an extended period of time in the Japanese Isles and deeply enjoyed New Zealand, which was most notable in its lack of difference from her home universe, having eschewed travel by zeppelin. Australia was a no fly zone for the last decade due to the nuclear strikes taken in the last half of the Great Atlantic War. South America was amazing and Rose couldn't really spot much difference, but neither had she known much about the continent in her own world. Before she knew it she had seen what felt like everything this planet had to offer and only a deep dislike of cold kept her from the poles of the world. Then it was just a matter of time before her evenings were spent staring up at the stars. The expanse stretching above her causing strange twinges somewhere in her chest, a tear in her running ragged at the edges. A hole she imagined must have been filled by the adventure and wonder of her old life (but really was the space she kept for the Doctor).

From that point it was a hop, skip and an extended zeppelin ride back to London. Her mum threw a great do, and everyone got together. There was much talk of what she was going to do now and then someone mentioned if she met a bloke and then she was crying.

The Doctor always used to like to wax poetic on the nature of time and how it was a fickle beast. Really, since those twelve seconds past the Doctor leaving her hopeless in a strange universe, a nearly two years had passed. At least empirically. However, as far as Rose was concerned, not two seconds must have gone by. It was as though time had folded in on itself while she wasn't paying attention. And now two moments, two Roses, were no longer separated by time and distance and experience but laying one atop the other. It really was incredibly frustrating to realize that perhaps she did need the Doctor, even if she couldn't have him.

The party cleared out pretty fast after that leaving her and mum hugging each other in a pile in the drawing room while Pete, Mickey and Jake hung about awkwardly the next room over. Jackie tucked Rose into bed that night like she'd not done for over a decade then and proceeded to dress down Pete for being an insensitive twat.

Rose woke up twelve hours later with a mild head ache and a new conviction. So being her own women hadn't worked in the traditional sense for her. What ever did? Nonetheless, Rose Tyler wasn't going to just sit around. If her Doctor was going to be stubborn about the whole fabric of time and space being torn to shreds thing then she'd just have to find a way back to him herself. So she got up, showered and asked Pete for a place at Torchwood. Figures that all of that would lead her to a brain numbing lecture on organic chemistry.

Still it would be worth it, if she could see her Doctor again.


	2. Chapter 2

So, eleven months of remedial courses and a gruelling battery of exams and Rose was officially qualified enough for Torchwood. Pete had offered her a job as a field agent like Mickey but what she wanted was to be close to alien tech, which led to Rose becoming an entirely over qualified desk agent, working to file and label all sorts of alien bits and pieces. At least she had full clearance, seeing as there wasn't much of a past for Torchwood to dig through in this universe. While having to exert all of this extra effort still rankled a bit Rose was more or less glad she had taken the time. This universe may be parallel but it was still confusing as hell to make a reference to football and find that they call it soccer here. Really, what was with that? It was like training wheels for her new life, being immersed in a foreign culture really.

Still, she was eager to start in on her mission to bridge the divide between this world and her Doctor's. Of course this was all hush hush. As far as anyone knew she was just a reclusive Vitex heiress whose daddy got her a desk job in Unmentionables (a rather poncy name for alien tech, but that was Pete's World for ya). Even Pete and mum had no clue, only Mickey really had any idea and he was still against it. Mostly though, Mickey was supportive, he may hate the thought of the Doctor and Rose but he wouldn't ever stop Rose from being happy. So a friend of his from the Physics department was supposed to give her a hand with the mathematics side of not destroying time and space by jumping universes. Give her another year and she'd be skipping across universes and perhaps have cured the common cold along the way.

At least, she hoped so. Really in a parallel universe where everything was that little bit off, and the only thing which could have anchored her was glaringly absent, Rose felt it best to live in hope. And bluster. Really with enough determination, blind faith and a spot of physics she could do anything. The Doctor has taught her nothing if not that. Impossible? Pfft.

"Well, what does that mean then?" The Doctor gave her his best withering stare. Unfortunately, Donna was one of the few beings who simply scowled right back at him when he made these faces. It would be disheartening if he wasn't fairly positive that Donna would stare down the Leader of the Free World if she wanted to. Which was why they were _not_ visiting the thirtieth century, even if they have got _great_ ice cream. "Doctor?" A bit of warning in her voice now, so the Doctor thought it best to explain.

"See, the Veil, the bits between the universes" he thought it best to illustrate his point with gestures, his hands miming a division by coming palm to palm then being pulled outwards. Granted rather simplified but he could do no better with only two hands, now if he were a Tildovian, he could put his eighteen hand-like appendages to good use! "It's gone." Flicking his hands out now in the universal symbol for *poof* (really, there had been a vote).

"Oi! I know what it _means_. I meant, what does it mean, for _us_?" Donna's arms were crossed, it might have been a good thing she interrupted him when she had because he just remembered he still had some Krippten puppets in his pockets and perhaps they would help as visual aid.

"Not quite sure what you're getting at there."

"Like, will we be off to an alien planet now, or do we have to dash home to warn mum and Granddad? Or do we have to make a bloody telephone call? I meant, what are we going to do this time to save the universe!" Oh, that's what she wants. A plan. Well, damn.

"Well, I don't really have a _plan_ per se." The Doctor shrugged eloquently pulling out his sonic screwdriver and aiming it at the console. "At least not in the concrete traditional way. You've got to let go of these habits of yours, planning? Really Donna." The alien git stopped his fiddling to aim a reproachful glance at Donna.

"Yes, _planning_ Doctor. Or do you want to end up like last time?" Aiming a victorious grin at the Doctor before looking pointedly at his overly coiffed hair. Almost involuntarily the Doctor raised his hands to pat at his hair self-consciously. Donna snickered to herself at the memory of their trip to the unpronounceable planet with the purple, viscous oceans. Supposedly perfectly safe, at least until the Doctor got there, having forgotten the flammability of the planet in general, when the Doctor gleefully aimed his trusty sonic screwdriver (Freud would have loved this Martian all right) at a lovely painting of what looked like a Technicolor landscape to Donna but was instead a tasteful nude portrait according to the Doctor, and the blasted thing emitted sparks which immediately set the bloody market on fire. This was fine for the fire proof aliens living there, but proved nearly fatal for the Doctor.

They escaped to the TARDIS just in time after a world class sprint with the Doctor's hair smoking merrily. He was insufferable for weeks after, pouting about his hair until it had grown out satisfactorily. Never mind that her favourite pair of sneakers were blackened beyond use! 'Ooo, the TARDIS will just make you a new pair Donna, but the TARDIS can't grow back my hair. Well, she _could_ but it wouldn't be the _same_.' Bloody Doctor.

"We won't have to worry about that Donna." Turning back to the Console with renewed fervour "This is more of a 'the end of time and space and existence as we know it' sort of problem than a fire one." He paused momentarily, "Unless you're speaking metaphorically. In which case the fires of hell are quite apt." Bloody Doctor indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor once described a paradox as something existing when, by all accepted laws of reality etc., said it should not. By this definition, the paradox of space and time existing before nine o'clock – which is to say, before Rose had had a full eight hours sleep as allotted to her by the BMA – continued to baffle and vaguely irritate her.

It had been four months living according to a schedule not her own. For the first time in years she was dragged forcibly from under her duvet by duty and grit. It was still jarring for her to wake up to an alarm forcing her out of bed instead of the looming face of the Doctor with his childish grin at the prospect of new adventures. Or to slowly be drawn from sleep by nothing more than her determination to _not_ be conquered by this universe, alien in a ruthless manner without a familiar hand to hold.

Still, her work had progressed some since she had begun in Unmentionables. Filing required approximately two percent of her brain power; the rest was dedicated to surreptitiously observing the alien technology flowing in and out of the department. She spotted more than a few useless odds and ends from her time on the S.S. TARDIS. On one memorable occasion, the entire Research and Development Department was in raptures over what Rose new for a fact to be the Tillian equivalent to a yo-yo. She had yet to find anything truly helpful, but Mickey's mate in the Physics Department was hard at work on a set of equations as to the permeability of the substance between universes, the Veil he was calling it. Which Rose found a bit more poetic and whimsical than she had expected from a physics genius but there you go.

Pete had offered her a room in the mansion but Rose had declined in favour of a flat closer to Canary Wharf and further from her adorable but _loud_ younger brother. Fortunately, Pete retained a number of properties throughout the United Kingdom and had a lovely, if a tad overt, place where he insisted Rose stay rent free. Well, Jackie had insisted but Pete had looked quite encouraging as well. Conveniently located mere blocks from the train station, Rose had a slim twenty minute ride then a five minute hike between her and Canary Wharf.

Still, as she attempted to walk rather than shuffle onto the train – grasping her mug of coffee with grim determination – the journey loomed like an insurmountable odyssey.

Making her way through the crowd she sots a blessedly empty seat and darts towards it with a surprising nimbleness for the early hour. Settling into the cracked upholstery, she sipped tentatively at her coffee, testing the temperature before taking a deeper draught. Feeling marginally more equipped to face the morning; she gazed blearily about the train. She briefly noted the sea of faces not dissimilar to her own, it seemed the crowd had reached an unspoken consensus that it was much too early for this sort of thing and the only noises were muted conversation and the soothing clack of the train.

Her eyes invariably settled on some piece of anonymous scenery – usually the back of someone's head, or the rush of images outside a window. Taking another pull on her thermos, Rose's gaze finally landed on a bit of graffiti inked on the back of the seat ahead of her. As it was still mere hours past dawn and a sharpied message scrawled onto the backdrop was hardly out of place, rose could be excused for not really absorbing the stridently black words until the train jolted uncommonly and she fell rather unceremoniously on her arse on a pile of sand. Blue sand.

As she sat stunned staring out at a clearly alien world the thick block letters of Bad Wolf seared her mind's eye.

Bloody men are all the bloody same. Even alien blokes would do the immensely frustrating and wrong footed sort of thing when confronted with something they didn't understand. Be it a serious conversation about their feelings or a universe ending paradox, the best offense is a good defense. Meaning, let's run as far and as fast from the problem as we can and hopefully it won't catch up.

Donna clattered about the TARDIS' kitchen making tea with perhaps more verve than necessary. The bloody Doctor could just go without bloody milk, because unless he finally relented and took them out of the time vortex, they weren't going to get any more and this carton was officially past it's sell by. First thing the Doctor does after explaining how the collapse of the known universe was imminent is ask her where to next.

"Wherever there's help to be had I suppose." She had responded a tad dazedly.

And the Doctor gives her such a look, like she was the type to consistently break the copy machine and not the bloody best temp in Chiswick. "That's rather vague isn't it?"

"Well, I don't know! What's the protocol for the end of time, Time Lord?"

"Oh Donna" he began in his best condescending Martian voice "If the Veil disappearing was going to tear apart time and space into nothingness it would have done so." Feeling a bit weak in the knees all of the sudden, Donna sat down in the pilot's chair "The way I see it," he pronounced, turning back to the controls with his customary recklessness "There's nothing I can do without a few fancy bits of technology and a couple of other Time Lords. Seeing as I watched both of these crucial things burn in an inferno which consumed my entire race, it's best to let sleeping dogs lie, eh?" With a flourish he pulled out a rather plunger like lever and gave it a jaunty spin. "Flatova's rather nice this time of year. Well, the time of year we're arriving at. Marvelous pan flautists reside in Flatova you know, met a fellow who could play the entirety of _Das Rheingold_ on the pan flute. Labour of love that was." The Doctor grinned his traditional grin, the plunger still rotating lazily behind him. Donna gaped for a moment, gathering wind as it were for a proper talking to, but something in the Doctor's eyes. Something dark and lurking, mad in a sinister sort of way she hadn't witnessed in the Doctor since he had snuffed out the Racnoss in one fell swoop. Something made her simply shut her mouth.

So they went to Flatova and listened to a pan flute concerto.

Two weeks later they had bounced from harmless planet to planet. Bok, where they had snow which was remarkably similar to ice cream in chemical composition, T'lok-toq, with their renowned mineral baths, some unpronounceable place where they spoke solely in dance and the Doctor was nearly executed for taking a run at the Macarena. Then just as abruptly as all this haphazard travelling started it stopped.

It was going on their fourth day, or whatever unit of time one uses on a TARDIS, in the time vortex. It was as though that boundless, jittery enthusiasm that had consumed the Doctor as of late had finally burnt him down to ash.

He had spent nearly every moment staring intensely at the console and mucking about exclusively with what appeared to be a heavily modified Etch-a-Sketch. He would sit and shake it and then the same incomprehensible symbols would trace themselves on the screen. Then he would scowl and fiddle at it with his sonic screwdriver. Lather, rinse and repeat for four bloody days.

Donna had forced tea and jammy dodgers down his throat periodically and had spent a considerable amount of time insisting he at least try to nap. Not that he ever did. She slammed down the snack she had prepared with her limited supplies on the tray the TARDIS had provided. She hadn't signed on to be a bloody baby sitter had she? Hadn't reckoned on making afternoon snacks and organizing naps for the skinny twit. She hadn't planned on the universe ending either. They had made a brief stop back home to check on her Mum and Granddad. Everything seemed to be in order, which was what really worried Donna. As the Doctor she supposes.

One of the immutable laws of existence had been broken and nothing had happened. Whether it was more alarming that the Veil was gone or that it hadn't really made much of a difference was difficult to tell.

Marching through the seemingly endless corridors of the TARDIS she allowed her mind to wander and her feet to lead, as that always seemed to get her where she needed to be the fastest. An inexplicable, impossible, reality-altering sort of problem seemed right up the Doctor's alley. But he had been ignoring pretty successfully until the Etch-a-Sketch had acted up. Then, when apparently confronted by the issue, he pouts for bloody England. Like she said, typical male.

The Doctor sat cross legged in a long limbed pile at the base of the console, staring at the Etch-a-Sketch with a sort of wounded confusion that made Donna's heart twinge just a little. Despite herself, she was a bit worried about the Doctor; she _knew_ he wasn't sleeping whatever he said.

So when she said "You should go to sleep." It came out more concerned then she had intended. She placed the tray beside him silently and sank down to sit on the other side, her back resting on the consoles base.

"Don't have to. At least not yet. Superior Time Lord physiology you know." He muttered distractedly, still preoccupied with the odd whirling symbols on the Etch-a-Sketch.

She snorted inelegantly "Superior! Right then, bit skinny for superior. I'd say an acceptable at best." Instead of the expected reciprocal affronted and wordy response was a distracted grunt. "Right, that's it." Reaching over the tray she grabbed the Etch-a-Sketch firmly and yanked it out of his hands.

Leaping up from her seat she twirled around holding it behind her back and out of a Time Lord's grasp. The Doctor still remained seated apparently dumbstruck hands still holding a phantom presence while his eyes were trained on Donna's smug expression of victory.

"I am officially taking this thing hostage. It will be returned to you unharmed upon your continued cooperation. You will drink your tea and your jammy dodgers and you bloody well _will_ sleep, Time Lord or not." The Doctor still gaped, his mouth working up and down, pleasingly speechless. Donna might have relished his silence just a little. She paused, contemplating his face for a moment before adding "Also, ten thousand pounds in unmarked, non-sequential bills."

"Donna" he managed to squeeze out warningly. Donna merely raised her left eyebrow, which, really, said it all. The Doctor sighed, running his hand through his hair as he leapt off the floor. "Give it here." sticking his hand out expectantly while fixing his best Oncoming Storm look to his face. Perhaps sensing from Donna's expression, "This is important Donna. Save the universe important." Raising his eyebrows earnestly while gesturing towards the Etch-a-Sketch with well-rehearsed gravity.

"Important? Really? You've spent four bloody days just looking at it. I know it's important but what are you going to do about it if you starve to death!"

"Not likely. The amount of tea you've poured down me is ridiculous." This was said with perhaps less disdain than the Doctor had hoped and tugged ever so faintly on Donna's heart strings. Which she would deny if asked. Vehemently.

"How about you go sleep and I'll stare at the thing and mutter to myself for a while?" She grinned hopefully "We'll take it in shifts, yeah?"

"It's not that simple. The symbols – you wouldn't understand." He spoke with his traditional confidence but his hands fluttered impotently in her direction, belying his flippancy. Her arms unfolded from behind her back, holding the Etch-a-Sketch out between them like an offering.

"Then explain it."


	4. Chapter 4

"It's like…" What in the world was a suitable Earth metaphor concurrent with Donna's knowledge base? There was really no way he could parallel the situation to _Coronation Street_, at least not until season eight of the year three thousand revival. Which reminded him, he really ought to clean out his TiVo. "The Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor essentially monitors the Time Vortex." Donna nodded, so far so good. "The Time Vortex… It's like if… Oh, have you ever had one of those Jell-O salads, the kind with bits of pineapple floating in it?" Donna nodded again, only slightly perturbed "It's like that." The Doctor nods triumphantly.

"You there! Girl!" Rose was stilled a bit speechless to tell the truth. And she wasn't really dressed for the desert. "You're trespassing, this is private property!" Turning dazedly around to look in the direction of the voice, Rose wondered what in the world giant blue ants were doing in London. And while she was on the topic, why was there a house, appearing to be straight out of Ancient Greece if one ignored its translucency? But then again, what was a desert of blue sand doing in London. "I see you! You know there's a fee now for trespassing? Yeah, the Council is cracking down on you bums!" As the two luridly shaded insects clacked there way briskly towards Rose as she stumbled up from the equally vivid sand. "Watcha think Nok? Think they'll get to keep her?" The ant to the left leaned towards the right hand one conspiratorially, it's mandibles moving in some parody of speech. The right ones antennas moved about in Rose's general direction before Nok responded

"Smells human, we could probably convince him. Perhaps if there was a bit of vandalism in addition to squatting." Nok nudged the other creature with his shoulder before both faced Rose again.

"Perfect, I'm _starving_"

Normally, Rose might have been more perturbed by this development. But as it was, she was preoccupied with something else. She could understand them. She could understand the, because they were speaking English. _English_. Unfortunately the translating properties of the TARDIS could not carry over into Pete's World through the Veil. She had struggled considerably with the language barrier when she had travelled the globe, not so much out of actual difficulty in picking up the native tongue. Rather, it was a painful reminder of just what she had lost.

Rose was pretty certain that six-foot tall blue ants did not speak English. Pretty _damn_ sure. And that meant… That meant…

Nok and Bok stood side by side a little stunned themselves. Having made it across the expanse of sand between the estate and the scrumptious looking trespasser, they found themselves looking not at a potential meal but a rapidly dispersing cloud of gold particles.

"Have you seen Rose?" Beth-Anne smiled a little at Mickey, the newest head of Field Operatives; he was a bit of a dish in her opinion. Too bad he was taken.

"Nope, sorry. You tell her to watch out though, Mary's on the warpath and she's late." She replied with only the faintest hint of a sigh.

Mickey sighed a little himself. Rose _was_ late, not just for work now but the meeting she had arranged between him, Johnny and her. While she might be late for work, she wouldn't have missed the meeting. To top it off he wasn't answering her magic phone, the one which had a signal no matter what or where. Or when, the way she tells it. Mickey kept walking past Beth-Anne's cubicle in Unmentionables and out into the corridor. Unmentionables was located in the sub-basement and even the hallways were a bit bleak, painted hospital beige and scented of mildew, the walls seemed to press in on you. Mickey hated it down here but visited regularly for Rose's sake. Actually, he checked on her more for his own benefit. It was heartening to see her sitting at her little desk every day, working away on this or that, fiddling with things just like the Doctor had.

Those first three months after the Canary Wharf incident, or _The Attack of the Cybermen!_, as the press referred to it, were horrible and wonderful all at once for Mickey. He had his Gran back, healthy and bossing him about, but he had lost Rose. She may have been on this side of the Veil physically but her mind was anywhere but here.

One of the best things about Rose had always been her smile. Since they were little, Mickey had made it a bit of a private competition with himself to see how often he could make Rose grin at him in that exact way of hers. As it often was, the older they got the more difficult the game became, but it was never impossible. And after she met the Doctor… then almost every time he saw her she was just _beaming_. So three months of just not seeing her smile, not at all. No matter how many stupid stories he would tell her when he visited her up in that great mansion of Pete's, or how much tea he brought her, or anything he could have done at all really. It really, _really_, sucked.

Then she hears the Doctor in her dreams and Mickey was happy to take her all the way to bleeding Norway. Happy because, even thought she woke him up at like two in the morning banging away on the door to his flat. When he opened the door, rubbing wearily at his eyes, she was just grinning away. "He's coming for me Mickey! I thought I wasn't ever going to see him again but he's coming to get me!" So they finally get to Norway, and they're at the ironically named Dårlig Ulv Stranden, and the Doctor just appears, right out of nowhere, down the rocky beach. No TARDIS or nothing. And he and Rose get to talking and Mickey thinks _This is it. They're going to hug or something and then they'll both just fade away._ And he was surprised at how not sad he was. There was a ball of pain lodged in his throat at the thought of never seeing his best mate again, but even if he couldn't see it, making Rose smile was always his favourite game.

Then the bloody bastard disappears.

Then Rose goes a bit mad and goes travelling all across the globe, comes back, and _completely_ loses the plot. Mickey doesn't really know for sure whether it was a good idea to indulge Rose in searching for her own way back to the Doctor. The threat of the collapse of the known universes hangs a bit heavy on his neck, but… Well, she had a job now. And a couple of mates, and Jackie was ecstatic she was getting out of the house at all. What harm was there in letting her and Johnny down in the Physics department muck about with a bit of alien tech? Jake thought he was off his nut, but then that was a common theme between them and Mickey thought it was kind of sorta worth it. 'Cause, maybe she wasn't beaming or nothing but she was smiling again. Just a little, here and there. Over stupid stuff like when Tony toddled over to her as soon as he was set down, or at the telly, or, every now and again, at Mickey.

Even though Rose seemed to be getting better Mickey still worried, and she had never been late for work before, let alone one of their covert meetings. So he was roaming up and down the sub-basement corridors in hopes of catching her on the way in. Stuffing his hands in his pockets Mickey ambled down one direction, thinking that he might just call up Jackie again and see if she knew anything, when he heard the crash of the heavy doors opening behind him. Turning on his he heel he saw Rose, a bit rumpled and covered in what looked like blue glitter to him, stalking down the hallway, the door swinging shut behind her.

"Rose!" he set off briskly in her direction "Thank God, you had me worried mate. Beth-Anne says Mary's in a right mood too so you better watch out." They met now near the middle of the hall, Rose stared up at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before the light seemed to go on.

"I will, just… Mickey were there any readings in today? From Cardiff or something? Something a bit… odd?"

"Why? I don't think so, no. What happened to you?" Mickey squinted at her, her hair was rumpled and upon closer inspection the blue glitter was more granular than he would have expected. "Did you go out last night? I know Shayenne was planning a pub crawl."

"What? No, no I just… Never mind, the train was late s'all" Rose patted her hair self consciously and dusted off her blouse before peering somewhere behind him "I'll just go talk to Mary, tell her I'm sorry, yeah." Mickey looked over his shoulder and Rose was off, darting past him and speed walking down the corridor before he could move. Catching himself up, Mickey moved after her, reaching her right as she turned the corner into another hall. Grasping her arm in an effort to stop her hurried escape, he was taken aback at the sudden and unfamiliar tingling sensation which overcame him once he made contact. Glancing downwards, he did a double take at the golden glow he seemed to be emanating, raising his eyes he was equally horrified to discover that the golden cloud of particles were radiating from Rose's eyes.

Beth-Anne clacked down corridor B to get her papers from the printer two doors down in filing. The one Unmentionables shared was working fine but if she ran into Mickey like she hoped, she could just say it was out of toner or something. Running her hand over her hair then down her smart new suit–skirt combo she bought just this past weekend at the Top Shop, she swayed as seductively as possible down the corridor before turning left.

Mickey was nowhere in sight, so Beth-Anne let out the breath she was holding in, partially in disappointment, partially in discomfort. On the inhale there was telltale tickling in her nose for a split second before she sneezed three times in rapid succession. Grimacing, she rubbed at her now clogged nose and wonder how on earth this yellow pollen had gotten all the way down to the sub-basement.


	5. Chapter 5

"Doctor," It seems he's lost her "I'm afraid you'll have to explain more than that."

"Right." His hands gestured vaguely, forming a ball in front of him "If everything solid, everything definite, definitive? Well, things like... Pompeii was, or like Australia existing is. Are the bits of fruit, the Time Vortex is the Jell-O."

"With the TARDIS we can burrow through it and emerge upon another piece of fruit and the Jell-O just reforms around us. So we can take the shortest distance between two proverbial bits of pineapple. See, that's where you lot have it wrong" The Doctor had begun to warm to his topic. Settling himself in the pilot's chair and gesturing expansively.

"You think linear is the fastest, you're catching on with how not everything is a straight line, but it's certainly not the quickest. Best I can explain, and that's quite well, wherever we travel I open a temporal corridor between two places and we just shift through. Et voila! The travel is really an illusion provided by our limited perceptions, because, if we just disappear and reappear, taking no apparent time – did we really travel at all?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows speculatively in a finale and contemplated taking out his specs for this next bit to add a bit of... ambience.

Donna thought she perhaps had bitten off more than she could chew.

"So if you're still with me. The Time Vortex is the Jell-O to your pineapple. If you had the relative perception of the pineapple chunk that is. Because you are possessing of a TARDIS and a Time Lord to ferry you about, your perception is more like a person about to consume the Jell-O but that's beside the point. Now if your hip to the physics of your era," The Doctor decided upon donning the specs, and he pulled out a handy laser pointer as well. Might as well go for broke.

"If you accept that Jell-O is a wave and the pineapple chunks are particles, that is, the Jell-O, by nature, is in constant flux; while the pineapple is in a fixed state then one precludes the existence of the other in the same point in time and space." Leaning back against the console and squinting one eye while sketching out a quick squiggle and dot on the wall of the TARDIS. "So a particle can't be a wave and a wave can't be a particle. A pineapple isn't Jell-O and Jell-O isn't a pineapple. And this metaphor is falling apart a bit, sorry."

"But if you accept that matter is in constant movement, than a particle is in constant flux which makes it a wave, however a wave is not in a fixed state by its very definition. That's the big argument of your day, really, you're all looking at is a bit sideways and nothing will make definitive sense until 2038 when you lot discover the 119 element. But the comparison holds true for the Time Vortex."

The Doctor took a deep breath in preparation. Donna blinked.

"The TARDIS allows us to manipulate the wave of the Time Vortex like a particle. That's what this symbol here means." Gesturing at the concentric rhombuses on the upper left corner of the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor.

"When we activate the Temporal Flux Capacitator, that button over there, this should appear, and when we land it should disappear. " Donna peered closer at the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor

"But we're not travelling are we?"

"Nope! That's the thing." He gave the Qonian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor a good shake and watched the symbols reappear on the screen "We are supposedly moving through a particle, not a wave, according to the Qonian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor. What's more, this thing-a-ma-jig here" Donna leaned in observantly, while he circled what looked like a stylized exclamation point but was really the Qonian symbol for Bizonium Theorem, discovered by Louis the Hirsute in the 82nd century. "Means that not only is the Time Vortex no longer in flux, its centered. Anchored. Like a point in space and time was the epicentre of the Time Vortex. It's unnatural. "

The Doctor sighed expansively, tucking away his laser pointer and removing his specs to rub the bridge of his nose, hoping to eradicate the beginnings of a migraine. Donna squinted speculatively at the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor then at the Doctor.

"Maybe it's broken?" She suggested, shaking it firmly for herself then closely inspecting the symbols as they were etched anew in the Qomian sand behind the crystallized panel. The Doctor caught up in his frustration, was taken aback b the rush of affection he felt for Donna, her brow furrowed as she inspected the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor for physical flaws.

"That's not a possibility. Qomian technology has a lifetime warranty and that's Time Lord lifetime, not human."

"Well the Etch-a-Sketch could still be broken. What's this then?" Apparently, Donna had found a little scratch in the finish, which really wasn't his fault. Rose had dropped it, really. Still it didn't break then, now that was quality technology. They just didn't make that anymore. Or yet.

"Donna, its fine, so says the 'It's functioning perfectly symbol.'" Really, it's not as if Donna would know it was just the logo. But just as well... The Doctor snatched he Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor from her hands to point illustratively at the bottom right corner. Donna frowned at the Doctor, seemingly scrutinizing his beaming face more than the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor.

The Doctor glanced down to the machine as if to confirm his earlier statement and suddenly thrust the apparatus into Donna's hands before leaping around the console in a frenzy of turning knobs and pulling levers and pushing buttons.

"What? What's going on?" Donna had stepped back a safe distance from the whirlwind of action and was now scrutinizing the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor. Nothing seemed terribly different but then, she couldn't really read it.

"See that swirly thing just adjacent to that boxish symbol. The Time Vortex, well, whatever it's centered on, is moving."

"What's that mean? It's a _place_ it can't be moving!"

"Exactly right Donna! Which is how I'm going to lock onto the signal..." Holding down the Continuum rudder while reaching out his left foot to push down the lever controlling the dispersion of Time stuff, he balanced against the console, squinting at the oscillating Time Engine, watching closely for the catch... And there!

"We've got it!" Releasing his pose and straightening up "Now the TARDIS will take us to this point as soon as it stops fluctuating long enough. Anywhere, any when, eh girl?" He patted the console before lurching into it as the TARDIS rocketed through time and space.

"Oi, watch it!" Donna stumbled into one of the coral struts and wrapped an arm around it, "Time sick, yeah!"

"Ha! We're in pursuit, fast on their heels!" The Doctor grasped the console with both hands, bracing himself for the chase "Pass me the Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor."

"The what?" Donna clung to the strut with one arm; the other clasped the monitor to her chest.

"The Qomian Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor!" Sticking one hand out in Donna's general direction as the TARDIS shook its way through the Time Vortex in pursuit of the same.

"Huh?" Donna's eyes were closed against the building nausea in the pit of her stomach.

"The Qomian Transit- Oh for, the Etch-A-Sketch!"

"You come get it! I'm not letting go until this thing gets some decent shocks."

Muttering under his breath, the Doctor stumbled towards her, reaching out to grab the Qomain Transitory Spatial/Temporal Monitor from Donna's outstretched hand. Staring at the screen while he braced himself against the console once more, he watched as the sand erased and rewrote itself again and again.

As focused as he was on the instrument, and as preoccupied Donna was with staving off Time sickness, neither noticed the faint golden glow radiating from the entrance to the TARDIS.


End file.
